A Christmas Carol: Sunnydale Style
by Robyn the Snowshoe Hare
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Angel is visited by three ghosts in a deliberate rip-off of the Dickens classic.


Disclaimer: I don't own these people. I might try to fool myself, but the doctors tell me that the first step to recovery is to accept that I did not invent the characters of BtVS, and I do not own the rights to them. Joss does. Also, I did not write A Christmas Carol, and my theme is not original. Those credits belong to Charles Dickens. I do not own my soul. This nice man with horns and a truly spiffy cape offered me free Sprite for life in exchange for it. Sucker. 

Author's Notes: 

I would like to thank, in alphabetical order, those good friends of mine who inspired me to write this. They are all great people, who are filled with the Christmas (and Hannekah, and Solstice, and Kwanzaa, ect) spirit year-round. Plus they make living without sanity much more fun. 

Thanks to Ana, Anja, Anya, Arymede TDB, Bedwyr, Beth, Cabil, Charlemagne, Hunter, Isis, Jai, Jeanie TTF, Joel TPW, John TFS, Julia Sen, Julie TML, Lea TVB, Mediancat, Mek, Nat, Qianca TQC, Sam, Stargrass, Stone Cold, Tia, TJ Thwaites, Vamp Baby, Windrider, and Zak. 

And special thanks to Petronius, who helped me out in the 15th hour with another of his great suggestians. 

Continuity Note: This is set in my alternate universe, where Amends has never happened, nor all that insanity between Willow and Xander. 

Note: Words in ~~'s represent thoughts. Often brooding thoughts. Sometimes happy thoughts. Though not usually. Although- 

{ROBYN! Just shut up and tell the story!} 

Oh, sorry. Ahem... 

A Christmas Carol... 

*********************************************** 

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the hou- 

{Wait, wrong story. Sorry about that.} 

The story actually starts on the day before Christmas, where Angel was lying in bed, trying to settle down for a long winter's nap. Well, not that the weather in Sunnydale really qualifies as winter, but it's the thought that counts in these matters. 

Anyway, Angel was brooding. Big shocker. Buffy's mom was out of town, and she had invited him to Christmas Eve dinner at her house with the rest of the Scooby Gang. Angel had mumbled something noncommitable, and had hung up the phone. He hadn't seen anyone since Buffy since the 'Evil Oven-Mitt' incident, as Buffy termed it, and he wasn't exactly eager to do so. 

~Why should I go, anyway?~ He thought to himself as he took his phone off of the hook. ~No one wants me there, Buffy probably just called me because she felt obligated to. They'll all be happier without me.~ 

Walking over to his fridge, he pulled out a bag of blood. ~Not exactly a Christmas ham.~ 

Taking a swig, he was startled by the feeling of a cold breeze against his back. Twisting around, he gave an audible gasp and dropped his dinner to the floor. He didn't even notice when the bag burst upon contact with the tiles, sending blood everywhere. 

Of course, the sight of Darla seated comfortably in a chair would do that to anyone. 

"Hi." she said softly. Angel backed slowly against the fridge, watching for any aggressive movement from his dam. After all, he had been the one to shove a stake through her unbeating heart, and he wouldn't really blame her for holding a grudge. But to his surprise, she remained seated, looking at him with wide blue eyes. There was also something very different about her, something that he couldn't quite place, but which became more obvious with every passing second. 

"Did you cut your hair?" he asked. Immediately after the words came out, he realized how truly idiotic they were, and would've been under any other circumstances. 

But instead of pointing that out to him, as she usually would have, Darla merely laughed lightly. It was the laugh that finally made Angel realize the difference. In the centuries that he had known Darla, he had often heard her laughter, and he had come to loathe the underlying hint of cold violence that always came with it. But this laugh was far different, it was light, innocent, and filled with joy. 

"You're not Darla." he stated. 

"Not as you knew her, no." she agreed. "But I am Darla, far more so than when you ever knew her. This is what I was before I was Turned." 

"Why are you here?" asked Angel, now thoroughly confused. 

"To give you another chance." 

"Huh?" ~Oh, brilliant comeback, Angel.~ 

"Tonight you'll be visited by three spirits, Angel. To show you another path." 

"Wait a minute, this is sounding like something out of Dickens." he said suspiciously. Perhaps he felt the thin thread of Fate wrapping around his neck. Or perhaps he just sensed a cheesy plot device, courtesy of an author who had listened to too many holiday carols. Either way, he was suspicous. 

Ignoring his comment, Darla continued. "The first will visit you at twelve this afternoon. The second will visit at one. And the third will come at two. Pay attention to what they will show you." Angel noticed that she was fading as she spoke. When she had first appeared, she had been completely solid, right down to the pleat on her navy blue skirt. But as the almost unreal conversation continued, she had slowly become more and more insubstantial, until Angel could see a table right through her. 

"What if I don't want to be part of this ridiculous-" Angel found himself saying the words to empty air, as he was once again alone in the mansion. 

Shaking the experience off as just a hallucination from an overactive mind, Angel cleaned the blood off of the floor and went back to bed, where he fell into a restless sleep. 

He was rather rudely awakened at twelve noon by the beeping of an alarm clock. This came as a surprise to him, as he didn't recall owning an alarm clock. 

Burying his face into his pillow, he jerked upright when a too-familiar voice said, "Hey, wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty." 

Looking up, he realized that it was indeed the person he thought it was. No two people could possibly have such a hideous fashion sense. 

"Whistler." he whispered in amazement. 

"Actually," the diminutive demon said, "for the purposes of today, I'm the Demon of Christmas Past." 

Before Angel could say another word, the short man interrupted him. "Just hold onto my hat, and we'll be off." Doing so, Angel found himself flying through the air, coming to a halt on the tiled floor of the library. Jumping up, he glanced out the window, and was astonished to see that it was dark outside. 

Looking around the library, he realized that it was decorated for Christmas. Elves cut out of colored paper covered the walls, scraps of wrapping paper littered the floor, paper plates filled with cookies lay on the checkout desk, and plastic cups were scattered everywhere. 

Angel's gaze was drawn to the library table, where Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia were opening presents with childlike exuberance, while Giles looked on with a tolerant smile. The librarian soon found himself pulled into the circle as each student handed him a gift. Angel found himself smiling as he saw the man's chagrin as he received a box of Taster's Choice from Xander. Giles thanked the smiling teen solemnly, and placed the box ceremoniously next to the other gifts, a Bay City Rollers cd from Buffy, a teacup from Cordelia to replace one that she had broken, a New Age book on demons from Willow, and a bright red stocking with 'Mr. Giles' written across the top from all of them. 

"So when is Dead-Boy getting here, already?" Xander asked, holding up a pair of sunglasses tied with a red ribbon. "I want to give him his present." 

The boy was elbowed by both Willow and Cordelia at the same time, Giles threw him a reproachful look as Buffy's expression became wistful. 

"Well," she said, "he didn't say he was definitely coming. He just said that he might swing by, if he wasn't busy." 

A silence fell over the group, as Buffy looked out the window and her friends looked at each other sadly. A damper came over the happiness of the group. Xander broke it when he ran into Giles' office, and came out dragging a huge box that had probably had a refrigerator inside it at some point. "Time for your gift, Buffy!" he said happily. 

The sounds of the scene faded as Angel watched as the Buffy of a year ago opened the box, to find a smaller box. Looking at her, Angel realized just how much she had aged in the past year, how the joy in her eyes was muted. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Whistler, who said, "Too bad you didn't make an appearance that year, she was really looking forward to seeing you." turning, the demon looked at Angel shrewdly. "Now why was it you didn't come?" 

Shuffling his feet, Angel muttered, "I didn't feel welcome. And she deserved a normal Christmas." 

"Ah, one where her boyfriend stands her up." 

"No!" Angel shouted, glaring at him. "One where she's surrounded by her friends. I would've just reminded her of all the death that was waiting for her. Besides," he continued defensively, "I *was* busy that night." 

"Maybe." Whistler said doubtfully. Angel glanced back at the group around the library table, where Buffy had just pulled out a small package. At least ten boxes of all sizes were scattered around her. Opening that final package, she revealed a framed picture of the entire gang, gathered around Giles' car. 

Angel felt Whistler tug at his sleeve. "Come on," the badly dressed man said firmly, "let's go see what was so important that you couldn't be with her on Christmas Eve." The warmth and smiles of the library faded away, replaced with the stark chill of Angel's old apartment. Angel saw himself seated at the table, dressed in black, drinking steadily out of a bottle of whiskey with the firm intention of passing out. 

"Yeah," Whistler said sarcastically, "that would be my choice over a night with friends any day. You did know, didn't you, that Buffy and Willow delayed the party for almost two hours, hoping you'd show? Giles tried to call you, but you had taken your phone off the hook. None of them wanted you to be on your own for Christmas." 

"I bet Xander did." Angel said, searching for one last defense. He winced slightly as his alter self tipped over backwards in his chair, unconscious before he hit the ground. Whistler shrugged. "If that gives you comfort." Glancing down at the vampire on the floor, he said, "Time's up. Let's get you home." Again, the room melted away, and Angel found himself back in his own bed. Glancing at the clock on his wall, he noted with a fair amount of fear the time, 12:58. Darla's words rang in his ears, 'The second will visit at one.' Unconsciously, Angel pulled the covers around his shoulders in a vain attempt to protect himself. He stared at the clock as the seconds ticked by, until again that mysterious alarm went off. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP 

Glancing around wildly, Angel was relieved to see no one. Then he heard a familiar voice behind him. 

"Hey, Dead-Boy, let's get moving already. I don't have all day here." 

Turning, dreading what he would find, Angel looked behind him. 

There stood Xander LaVelle Harris, eating a Twinkie as he slouched against a wall. 

End Part One 

Begin Part Two 

"*YOU*?" Angel asked in shock. "You're the Ghost of Christmas Present?" 

"You catch on quickly, huh Dead Boy?" Xander said, taking another big bite out of his Twinkie. "Yeah, I'm here to help you. Of course, I'm not the Xander you know. I'm just the semblance of him." with a quick glance at his Tweety watch, he grabbed Angel's sleeve, and without a word of warning, their surroundings melted and changed to become Buffy's living room. Unprepared, Angel lost his balance and crashed to the floor. 

"Whoops." Xander said, insincerity practically dripping from his words. 

Looking around, Angel saw Willow, Cordelia, Oz, and the version of Xander that he knew piled onto the couch. Faith was spawled on the floor, listening to her walkman. Willow had the TV remote and was flipping channels absently. Giles walked into the room, cleaning his glasses with a napkin. All four looked at him expectantly as he seated himself in an armchair. 

"Buffy's trying to call Angel one last time, than we'll start eating." he said. 

"Can't she take a hint?" Cordelia griped, toying with the cuff of her shirt. "She's called like ten times, and he didn't come last year either." 

"Ah, but it wouldn't be Christmas without waiting until the food gets cold for the cold-blooded killer to make an appearance." Xander said. 

"That's not entirely fair." Willow admonished him lightly. 

"Oh, no? Let's think. Buffy invites Angel to Christmas Eve Dinner so that he won't be alone, just like last year. He stands her up, just like last year. She postpones dinner for two hours, hoping that he'll show, just like last year. Then, when he doesn't come or even call, she's depressed. Why does she even bother with him?" 

The others looked at him, but none of them answered. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Buffy walked in. Looking at her, Angel could see the sadness in her face that she was trying to hide. 

Everyone looked up with guilty expressions on their faces. "Angel?" Cordelia asked. 

Buffy tried to smile, but it wasn't a very convincing effort. "He didn't answer his phone, so I guess he's out. Let's eat." 

Extracting themselves from their seats, everyone filed out. At the end of the line, Xander put a comforting arm around Buffy's shoulders. She smiled at him in mute thanks as they joined the others. 

Watching them, Angel turned to the ghost, who was now scarfing down a box of HoHos. "She might be sorry that I'm not there, but the others are happier for it." 

The Ghost grinned at him lopsidedly. "Oh, yes. Happy that it's Christmas Eve and Buffy is depressed?" 

Angel glared at him. "Xander was certainly happy that I wasn't around. He's always hated me." 

"True," the Ghost agreed, "but have you ever thought *why* he hates you?" 

"Because he loved Buffy, but she loved me instead." Angel said. 

"In the beginning, yes. But in time that faded. By the time that Buffy's seventeenth birthday rolled around, he could tolerate the relationship, and even, in his way, support it." 

"Than now he hates me because of what Angelus did." 

"Partially. Xander looks at you, and he sees the monster that hurt his friends. His friends are the most important people in his life, and he remembers how much you hurt them. But he also hates you for what you are now." 

"For what I am now?" 

"Yes. No matter what you've done, Buffy still loves you, and that means that you can hurt her like no one else, even your alter ego. *You*, Angel, not Angelus. Xander sees Buffy's pain when you stand her up, or her pain when you show. He would do anything to stop that hurt, but he knows that there is nothing he can do. He sees the unconditional love that Buffy holds for you, and he thinks that you don't deserve it." 

"You're talking in riddles. If I show up, I hurt her, but if I stay away, I'll hurt her just as much? So what should I do?" 

"It's up to you." the Ghost said, and with that the scene faded away, and Angel was back in his own room. "One left to go, Angel. Make the right choice." 

Xander faded away, leaving only a few packaging wrappers from his treats. In his place appeared a figure wrapped in a long black cloak. The hood was pulled forward, hiding the face in shadow. Remembering the Dickens story, Angel decided to forgo pulling back the hood. 

"So you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? The one that doesn't speak?" he said, his voice cracking slightly. The figure reeked of the tomb and death, and filled Angel with an almost unreasoning terror. 

As it had so many other times that day, Angel's room melted away, replaced by the library. The Christmas decorations were up again, but a sense of despair seemed to permeate every corner. Looking around, Angel saw Giles seated at the table, a shot glass and a brandy bottle in front of him. The older man was cradling a bright red stocking in his hands. Angel was surprised to hear a muffled sob come from the Watcher. In a lightening-swift change of mood, Giles swore and threw the glass across the room and into the door, where it exploded into fragments barely a foot away from where Angel was standing. 

Jumping, Angel looked automatically at his guide, but the figure remained as remote as ever. Looking back at Giles, he saw the man staring blankly at a wall. Beside him, he felt rather than heard the Ghost turn and begin to walk away. Shaken, Angel followed. 

The school hallway faded away, and became the graveyard at night. Looking around, Angel reflexively jerked backwards as the Ghost slowly raised its arm and pointed to a small clump of people gathered around one lone grave. Creeping closer, he recognized Cordelia, Xander, Willow, Faith and Oz. He watched as Xander slowly knelt and placed a small bouquet of lilies on the ground in front of the tombstone. Reaching out, the teenager put an arm around Cordelia, who was sobbing uncontrollably. The group began to walk away, but they paused when Faith didn't follow. She gave them a small smile and then gave a little wave that said, 'I'll be along'. Nodding, the others walked away. 

Moving forward, she knelt in front of the marker, reaching out with one hand to lightly brush her fingers over the inscription. 

"I don't know what to say, B." the Slayer whispered. "I guess I never really thought that anything would happen to you. You had already lived longer than just about any other Slayer, and you were twice as good as me." Faith smiled wistfully in memory. "I'm going to miss training with you. With you kicking my ass, then showing me what I should do differently next time. But there isn't going to *be* a next time for you. No reset button." tears started to flow down the girl's cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away. "And it was my fault! I got so distracted by that one vamp...and you were handling all the others...and then...and then...Damnit Buffy!" the girl screamed, "Why did you have to babysit me? If you hadn't been watching *both* of our backs, than that vamp would never have gotten in that lucky shot!" she sobbed for several minutes, until the tears slowed, and she looked at the stone again, pensively. 

"I remember what you told me that time," she said, "when I asked you how you dealt with the fact that we weren't going to live very long.....and you just looked at me and said, 'Savor the moment'. And then I asked if you meant 'carpe diem', but you shook your head." the young Slayer smiled as she recalled the words of her friend. "You said, 'don't just seize the moment, because that can come around and bite you in the ass. Savor the moment. When you're surrounded by friends, or people who love you, don't clutter it up with worries. Recognize it for the gift that it is. Don't measure your life in years, but in good memories.'" Faith wiped her face as she slowly rose. "I'll try, B, I'll try." 

Faith disappeared, and Angel walked slowly over to the front of the tombstone, knowing what would be there. 

Buffy Anne Summers 1981 - 1998 Beloved Daughter and Friend 

Spinning, he yelled at the Ghost, who stood patiently behind him. "Why did you bring me here? To show me that there is no hope? Answer me, damn it!" 

Completely forgetting the Dickens novel, Angel strode up and yanked the hood back, revealing...nothing. There was nothing in the hood, or the cloak for that matter, and it fell to the ground limply. 

"You always were a bit thick, weren't you, Angel?" a sardonic voice came from behind him, and Angel spun to see himself. But not himself. The body was an exact match of his own, but the cold humor behind the eyes and the cruel twist of the mouth belonged to only one being. 

Angelus. 

"Did you kill her?" Angel asked, unconsciously backing up a step. 

"These are shades, fool. Futures that might or might not be. But rest assured," and here the demon smirked, "That tombstone is in every future. As for who killed her," he shrugged carelessly, "it might've been you, it might've been me. For all I care, it might have been that idiot Watcher of hers. This isn't about her *death*," and to Angel's amazement, the figure of Angelus shifted into the figure of Jenny Calendar, "but about her *life*." 

"What game are you playing?" Angel asked cautiously, backing away carefully. 

"No games." she said, stepping closer to him, "Merely illuminating some things for you. You can spend another century brooding about what you have done, and even though empires might rise and fall, you will remain unchanged." the figure changed again, this time becoming the badly-dressed demon that Angel remembered so well, "That's the easy choice. If you go on that road, it'll just be you and your memories. Just the two of you. Or," the figure of Whistler shifted and melted, becoming Kendra, "Ye kin choose de other path, and live in de world. Dat path is harder and filled wit pain. Dat's because it's *life*, and life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is selling someting." the Slayer's form faded, and became Willow. "But, sometimes, life can be nice. I mean, there's love, and happiness, and there's friendship." Willow's figure faded away, to become Xander. The dark-haired teenager looked at Angel calmly, and said, "So choose." and then he vanished. 

Angel woke up at dusk. Twisting around, he realized with relief so profuse it was almost a living entity that it had all been a dream. 

~But what a dream..~ 

Angel sat back against his pillow, and considered his options. 

....later that night.... 

Willow, Cordelia, Oz, and Xander sat piled onto the couch. Faith was spawled on the floor, listening to her walkman. Willow had the TV remote and was flipping channels absently. Giles walked into the room, cleaning his glasses with a napkin. All four looked at him expectantly as he seated himself in an armchair. 

"Buffy's trying to call Angel one last time, than we'll start eating." he said. 

"Can't she take a hint?" Cordelia griped, toying with the cuff of her shirt. "She's called like ten times, and he didn't come last year either." 

"Ah, but it wouldn't be Christmas without waiting until the food gets cold for the cold-blooded killer to make an appearance." Xander said. 

"That's not entirely fair." Willow admonished him lightly. 

"Oh, no? Let's think. Buffy invites Angel to Christmas Eve Dinner so that he won't be alone, just like last year. He stands her up, just like last year. She postpones dinner for two hours, hoping that he'll show, just like last year. Then, when he doesn't come or even call, she's depressed. Why does she even bother with him?" 

The others looked at him, but none of them answered. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Buffy walked in. Looking at her, the group could see the sadness in her face that she was trying to hide. 

Everyone looked up with guilty expressions on their faces. "Angel?" Cordelia asked. 

Buffy tried to smile, but it wasn't a very convincing effort. "He didn't answer his phone, so I guess he's out. Let's eat." 

Extracting themselves from their seats, everyone filed out. At the end of the line, Xander put a comforting arm around Buffy's shoulders. She smiled at him in mute thanks as they joined the others. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Turning, Buffy hurried to answer it as everyone stood in the hallway, looking on curiously. Standing on the front stoop was Angel. 

"Sorry I'm late." he said, smiling at her apologetically. 

Looking up, Buffy returned the smile. "No, that's alright, come on in." 

(fade out as the door closes, and the sounds of general merriment can be heard from inside) 

Merry Christmas To All, and To All A Good Night! 

{Robyn, what was with that ending?} 

{It was a wonderful ending! I wanted to be ambiguous! You know, let the author decide how things went after that} 

{You've been reading too much Hawthorne. Now fix it!} 

{Nag, nag, nag. Why did I make you my Muse?} 

{.....} 

The Alternative Ending... 

(fade back in, voice of the quickly cast Narrator speaking, who sounds oddly like Gaius Petronius...) 

Narrator: Angel was better than his word. He quit brooding and became not only as good a vampire, as good a blood sucker and as good a demon as good 'ole Sunnydale ever knew, or any other vortex, alternate reality or Hellmouth in the good ole world... 

And it was always said that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if anyone dead possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us and all of us. And as Giles observed, "Uhhh...I'll have to consult my books..." 

The End 


End file.
